nowhere in particular, but this thread-like path is its only connecting link with its nearest neighbor, yet intercourse is considered neither infrequent nor difficult.

I can think of nothing more absolutely restful, of no spot where the hurry and unease of the big world so dwindle to proportions of such utter foolishness, as in the churchyard of Buckland on an August afternoon. How the warmth of the sunshine sinks into the old gray stones, where the memory of just and unjust is kept green by the softly creeping moss that spells out the rude lettering of their names; and the rooks circle sleepily about the square stone tower with its ancient dial, and only the sweet, subdued sounds of the voices of children and other happy young creatures mingle in the still, hazy air!

What keeps these dear old parish churches firmly planted through the changing centuries? Do their congregations ne'er break up, their centers of population never shift?

Almost as quaint is Child's Wickham, another of Broadway's outlying dependencies, which until I saw Buckland seemed to me the least able to account for its own perpetuity of all the fascinating little hamlets I had known. But one little rhyme, wrongly scheduled as nonsense, accounts. for many things in Our Old Home. ""Tis because they choose to do just what they used to do" that many places,, many things, and many customs are maintained there:

climbing rampantly over the house-fronts, and sending out great fragrant clusters of roses to lay their soft pink-tinted yellow petals against the deeper tones of the limestone, or to mix with the royal purple of the clematis.

Here they follow the good old tradition of the Bradweia, and charming footpaths criss-cross the fields in all directions, making thoroughfares far more popular than the dusty roads. The bristling hawthorn hedges are pierced with frequent stiles, whose architecture might form a pleasing study in itself. Now it is a thick flat stone, deeply embedded on its edge, the top worn to a smooth hollow by the travel of generations; then it may be a picturesque arrangement of lichened logs, or even a smart bit of carpenter's work, with rails and step, but always the stile is planned for a people of mighty limb.

Looking down from the hillside of a Sunday afternoon, you shall see the tidy farmers' families wending through these fields from all directions toward cld St. Eadburgha's Church, while the merry clanging jangle of her bells comes up from the hollow a mile away.

Walk "through the coppice," by a grassy path that will lead you over four moss-grown stiles, up a steep hill that rewards you with a far-stretching outlook over the vale to the Malvern Hills, through beech woods and blackberrybushes and down a hill stiffer than the first, and you shall come upon a village in comparison with which Broadway appears a commercial center. Buckland has absolutely no thoroughfare. One road, it is true, leads into it from

which would be quickly lost among a people less conservative-which means preservative as well.

Any one who has been so fortunate as to be present at the annual School Treat in Broadway will be in no fear of its speedy depopulation. Two hundred school-children marched in line, with banners flying, as sturdy little specimens as one could ask to see, and, after a service in the church, scrambled under the trees for sweets, scattered by the rector's liberal hand. And these were only the Church children, the Roman Catholics turning out in good number on the following day.

Oh, there be the lady that painted we!" cries one delighted youngster, in the favorite grammatical idiom of the locality.

For "inside" information as to the history and manners of the place, in default of any local guide-book, or any but a passing allusion by Baedeker, the most interesting source is the Old Curiosity Shop, outside of which stand inviting rows of beds and tables, stools and candlesticks, gathered from every auction sale within a radius of twenty miles. To its proprietor (I assert it on no less authority than his own word) is due the success of most of the artistic work accomplished in his village. He shows you, with natural pride, photographs of certain well-known pictures, and produces forthwith the very tables, chairs, and sideboards that appear in them.

"Oh, it's the setting that does it," he observes, with the air of experience; adding, "I furnish the settings!"

Grant's Tomb

One of the great features of wheeling is that it enables a person to get well acquainted with his own environment. The Spectator knew very little about upper New York before his wheeling days began, and nothing of New Jersey and Long Island except what he saw from an occasional car window. Now the suburbs of New York are becoming as familiar as Madison Square. There is as much delight in discovering a new macadamized road as Hendrik Hudson found when he first sailed up the river which bears his name. To be sure, other people may have known that macadamized road intimately for many years; but red Indians had been paddling over the Hudson River for centuries before Hendrik was born, and doubtless visiting cave-dwellers were familiar with its waters æons before the days of the red Indian. Discovery is a personal matter: when you discover a thing, it begins to exist. The Spectator has never had an ambition to be "the first white man" to do anything. Let other white men go on ahead and cut their way through the forest, and still other white men follow them and construct comfortable hostelries-then the Spectator is ready to appear on the scene.

A Bit of Good Road

The Hudson County Boulevard, running for fourteen smooth, delightful miles from Fort Lee to Bergen Point, N. J., is one of the Spectator's discoveries which he advises every New York wheelman to make his own as soon as possible. The builders of that road have made themselves a monument as enduring as brass and about as hard. It was a pleasant Saturday afternoon in early spring when the Spectator took the 3:15 boat at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, with the intention of discovering this new boulevard, opened only a few months before. As the boat neared the landing he asked nicelooking young wheelman if he could direct him to the nearest way to reach his Mecca, and the young wheelman said he was going there

The Bicycle-Stand at Claremont

too, and if the Spectator would follow he would guide. The Spectator has never yet found anything but courtesy among wheelmen. We turned to the left at the ferry landing and skirted the river for a mile, then climbed the hill (not a long climb at this point), went on for another mile, making several turns where the Spectator was very glad to be guided, and soon the broad, winding Hudson County Boulevard, was under our tires and we were speeding on at a twelve-knot rate. The young man was on his way to Forty-second Street in New York:

The New St. Luke's Hospital-from a Corner of Central Park

a reformed city. "And so, home," as Mr. Pepys would say; but Mr Pepys never had a cyclometer which could click off thirty-five miles between three o'clock and seven.

"

One of the most delightful short trips around New York is the run to Throgg's Neck and Fort Schuyler. The only difficulty is in getting comfortably out of the city; but the Spectator is fond of doing a part of his day's wheeling with his bicycle in a baggage-car, and he elected to take a train to Mount Vernon. From there to Throgg's Neck, through Wakefield, Olinville, and Westchester, is a run of about fourteen miles, and the road is perfectly macadamized most of the way. The main road ends at the entrance to C. P. Huntington's place, but a branch takes one to the Fort and its picturesque fortifications. Round wooden bull's-eyes, painted to represent the ends of cannon, frown from its nice little walls, and one can imagine how a British man-of-war would tremble as it passed. Across the Sound there is another fortification-a much deadlier one, bearing in large letters the "scare-head," Torpedoes-Don't Anchor." One is not allowed to take pictures in Fort Schuyler. The Spectator apologizes for showing a few which he took, but one group of soldiers within the fort consented to be photographed without a murmur, and it was only as he was taking his last picture that he was told it was against the rules. A reporter had been there recently, and he had taken pictures and written up a story which contained things that were not so-he must have made it out as a strong fortress with lots of big guns-and this was not to happen again. We leaned our wheels against the trees on the lawn outside the fort, and watched the schooners and the Isloops sail by with all their canvas set and a spanking breeze blowing them out into the Sound. Far off at the left a hundred sail dotted the blue waters; and the grass was green and the sun shone-and it was good to be a wheelman.

It was only a very few summers ago that the Spectator gazed with mingled feelings of curiosity and scorn upon the pioneer wheelwoman

of New York as she rode in Central Park with yellow leggins-the subject of a column "story" in the "Sun," and the object of as much attention as a circus parade. To-day there are about as many women as men on wheels, and the term "wheelman" is becoming more generic every month. Certainly there was never devised, in the his

From the Lawn at Fort Schuyler

The

tory of the world, such a splendid out-of-door sport for women. sunlight and the suburbs are theirs, and they can be as independent as they please or they can make it a point to travel without a toolbag of their own. Not every woman has learned to ride gracefully— nor has every man, for that matter. They are prone to sit too far back, and at a wrong angle from the pedals, and to work their machines with a knee motion that suggests the walking-beam. The skirtless bloomer-girl is going-if indeed she ever came. New dresses have been devised with mysterious straps in their insides, and graceful folds to hang over the rear wheel, with enough room for the knees in front. But The Outlook has already given space to this subject.

The Spectator has yet to find the first railroad man who bewails the passage of the Armstrong Bill, compelling the companies to carry bicycles as checked baggage. Perhaps it is because his acquaintance is more with the "hands" than with the managers. Mr. Depew may not like the bill, but the ticket agent who has had to write out a paper

A Riverside Drive Policeman

check in triplicate for every bicycle, and stamp each one of the pieces, is not tearing his hair over the new law in sight of the passengers. The Spectator asked a baggageman · how the change affected him. "I didn't use to get any of the money, did I?" was the reply. The fact is that while it is quite true that bicycles are something of a nuisance in a baggage-car (they might be much less of a nuisance if the companies would bestir themselves enough to have hooks or racks for them), it should be remembered that the wheelman usually takes his wheel to the car and stands ready to take it off when the train reaches its destination. Through traffic is not seriously affected by carrying wheels. The picture which Mr. Depew drew of the Empire State Express having some day to refuse sixty passengers because there would have to be an extra car for wheels, is probably one of the genial railroad president's pleasantries. If there is any law which compels a railroad to carry baggage on the same train with the passenger, it is certainly broken often as to trunks, and the bicycler going from New York to Buffalo is not liable to be in costume and to demand his wheel immediately on arrival. The Spectator is very fond of doing half a wheeling trip on the cars. He has wheeled, many a morning, to Yonkers, Tarrytown, or Sing Sing, and returned by train. The railroad company may object to carrying his bicycle, but it certainly would not have carried him if it had not been for the wheel. He would hardly

have gone up to Sing Sing by train just for the pleasure of coming back the same way.

Part of the wheeling between Yonkers and Hastings may be made on the Croton Aqueduct, and if one does not mind dismounting about once in a thousand feet to go through a narrow stile, it is a very pleasant experience. The Spectator tried it once last autumn in a mellow November morning, with hazy sunshine in the air, and the Hudson sparkling through the half-bared trees. It is a lonely piece of road, and one not to be attempted on a dark night. It is great fun, by the way, to wheel at night if one is sure of the road; and the Boulevard, Riverside Drive, and Central Park are full of twinkling lights these spring evenings. Of course many wheel at night because they have no time for it in the day, but to the Spectator there is a special fascination about riding in semi-darkness. One goes faster, unconsciously, and really seems to pick one's way with less care than in the light of day. The mystery about it and the possible danger lurking just ahead seem to add to the fascination.

A Boulevard Policeman

One of Colonel Waring's White Angels"

The average country road, with ruts and stones, on a moonless night, would have few charms, for there is as yet no bicycle lamp that really illumines the way; but a smooth asphalt is a distinct pleasure. The novices are lurking in sheltered nooks, usually with a friend to support them, but the still more dangerous ice-wagons and coal-carts are hushed in sleep, and Colonel Waring's white angels have left a clean road for the wheelmen. And what a debt of gratitude we owe to that same Colonel Waring! By eleven o'clock the Park and the Drive are almost deserted, but the lights still glimmer on the Boulevard, speeding southward till midnight.

One February morning the Spectator had wheeled up to Washington Bridge, and as he leaned his bicycle against the parapet the sight that met his eyes made him glad he was a Spectator and that the fates had directed him to that spot. There was almost no fog in the air above, and the sun was half shining through the clouds ; but under the bridge, and stretching away as far as one could see to the north and south, was a white and billowy mass of vapor, so thick that only the tops of the trees could be seen coming through like rushes along either edge. It was banked up against the hills on the sides, and flowed just under the arches of High Bridge, and the Harlem River was blotted out and the "Speedway" was gone (would that it would stay so!). It seemed as if one could throw one's self over the parapet and be borne up by the soft mass just below. Then a whistle was heard and a train rushed along, out of sight; and the white smoke, whiter than the fog, broke through and settled above it in a line that grew longer and broader as the train sped on.

A Group of Colonel Waring's Men

The Book of Job (Macmillan & Co., New York) is the latest in Professor Moulton's admirable series, "The Modern Reader's Bible." This book, which he fitly calls a dramatic poem framed in an epic story, is presented in its dramatic form with brief literary notes. We shall speak at an early date and at length of this series. It must suffice to say now and here that this pocket edition of "The Book of Job" will be to most English readers like the discovery of a new and

great work.

Eucharistic Conferences is the title of the collected papers presented at the First American Eucharistic Congress, Washington, D. C., October, 1895. (The Catholic Book Exchange, New York.) The object of these Conferences is to promote greater devotion and a larger use of the Eucharist, as by a daily celebration of the mass, special preparations for it, explanation of its meaning, and the like. The Protestant reader will find this a valuable treatise, if he desires to obtain the Roman Catholic point of view of the Holy Sacrament. The Ideal of Universities, by Adolf Brodbeck, Ph.D., translated from the German and reprinted from the Metaphysical Magazine " (The Metaphysical Publishing Company, New York), is a series of essays on the function of the university, the main value of which will be their suggestiveness to professional teachers and those who have some part in the framing of educational systems.-American Orations (G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York) is a new and revised edition of this valuable work-valuable not only for the specimens of eloquence which it contains, but also for the current, vital, personal interpretation of historical events by the men who had so great a part in making those events.

Mrs. Cotes (Sara Jeannette Duncan) again makes good use of her intimate knowledge of Anglo-Indian life in His Honour, and a Lady. There is more than local color, humor, reproduction of official, social, and native manners and life; there is also a subtle study of character and motive. The novel is well worth reading. (D. Appleton & Co., New York.)--Miss F. F. Montrésor has a singular gift for telling a pathetic story tenderly and without excess in expression. Worth While is such a tale. A second story in the volume is fairly good. The author will be remembered as having written "The One Who Looked On." (E. Arnold, New York.)- -In Mark Herron Alice W. Bailey takes her characters through summer schools, theosophy, mind-cure, the glories of the Chicago Fair, Christian Science, Indian philosophy, and much else that is mysterious. The book is immensely interesting, not as a story (there is not much plot, and the reader cares little how the love affair terminates), but as a well-informed study of the waves of mental excitement which have followed one another in the last few years. The author does not argue, and the talk of her characters is not wearisome. There is an extraordinary amount of observation in the book, and it is acutely suggestive. (Harper & Brothers, New York.)- -A third volume has been added to the reprint of William Carleton's racy Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry. (Macmillan & Co., New York.)- -A Mountain Woman, by Elia W. Peattie (Way & Williams, Chicago), is a very tastefully made book which contains eight short stories. some of which have appeared in various magazines and journals. The stories are interesting chiefly because of a certain freshness of feeling in them and a certain note of promise. They are very uneven, and in one or two cases they are crude in construction, but the writer is dealing with real things in a genuine spirit, and her work is therefore worthy of careful attention. It contains the promise of better things.

-Mr. S. R. Keightley, the author of "The Crimson Sign," has selected the period of the English Revolution as furnishing material for his new story, The Cavaliers, a spirited novel of adventure. (Harper & Brothers, New York.)- -New editions of standard authors constitute a very large part of the current publication, and, it hardly need be added, a very valuable part. Messrs. Macmillan & Co. (New

York) send us a new volume, The Unknown Masterpiece, in their series of Balzac's translations, the work of translation being done in this case by Ellen Marriage, and Mr. Saintsbury, the general editor of the series, furnishing a preface. The further this series progresses, the more satisfactory become its qualities as a piece of tasteful and beautiful book-making.- -The same publishers issue also Daudet's Tartarin on the Alps in the series commented upon in these columns last week.- -Across an Ulster Bog, by M. Hamilton (Edward Arnold, New York), is a story of Irish life. With the memory of Jane

Barlow's simple Irish stories in the reader's mind, "Across an Ulster Bog" is tame and colorless

A new and enlarged edition of Mr. Julius H. Ward's The White Mountains: A Guide to their Interpretation, has been issued; the new chapters are on The Gateway at North Woodstock, The Mountain Colors, Snow-Shoeing on Osceola, and The Winnipesaukee Region. We commented fully on this book when it first appeared, and need only say now that no lover of the White Mountains can afford not to read it. (Houghton, Mifflin & Co.,. Boston.)- -Another delightful outdoor book from the same publishers is Miss Alice Brown's By Oak and Thorn, which is a record of "English days," largely in Devon and Cornwall. It is very much more than a book of travel; it touches literature and history at many points; it is written with keen appreciation of the charm and association of the places visited; in style it is admirable.

An important book of the week, one eagerly expected by many readers, is W. Fraser Rae's biography of Sheridan. It is printed in two large volumes, has a portrait, and is accompanied with an introduction by Sheridan's great-grandson, the Marquess of Dufferin and Ava. A great deal of material not before published is included. We shall, of course, give a review of the work at a later date. (Henry Holt & Co., New York.)

Mr. Charles G. Leland has followed his first series of Legends of Florence Collected from the People (Macmillan & Co., New York) with a second series. Mr. Leland had very rich material to draw upon in these two volumes, and it hardly need be said that he is an expert collector and sifter of popular tradition. No American of our time has been a greater adept in the lore of the common folk, and especially of wandering folk like the Gypsies. Mr. Richard Lodge's Richelieu, which bears the imprint of the same publishers, and which takes its place in the Foreign Statesmen Series, furnishes a compact account of one of the most adroit statesmen and one of the most picturesque characters in modern French history.

Mr. William Root Bliss, who has shown so much knowledge of things colonial and provincial in connection with Buzzard's Bay and the Old Colony, has prepared another book in the same vein on Quaint Nantucket (Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston), a study of the town as it existed for two hundred years before the invasion of the summer boarder, the material being taken from the town and port records, sea-journals, personal letters, and private manuscripts of various kinds.

Professor Arthur T. Hadley's Economics (G. P. Putnam's Sons,. New York) is a survey of the entire field from the standpoint of a moderate individualist, who is generally but not invariably opposed to measures urged on behalf of the poorer classes. Professor Hadley's individualism is not that of Herbert Spencer, nor, indeed, that of his senior colleague, Professor Sumner. The labor measure he most heartily indorses is the legislation restricting the hours of women and children in factories, to which the older individualists were so strenuously opposed. It is in regard to monopolies that his individualism is most marked. He seems to cling to the belief that enlightened self-interest will persuade natural monopolies and trusts to reduce rates to the level demanded by the public interest, and secured in other branches of industry by the presence of competition. In regard to railroads he even seems to feel that there is danger of too great competition, and recommends the permission of "pooling' contracts to prevent their competing with each other in the unrestricted way necessary for merchants and farmers. On the question of taxation Professor Hadley is thoroughly in sympathy with the principles of free trade, and somewhat in sympathy with the principle of progressive taxation. On the question of currency he is entirely out of sympathy with the bimetallist movement. He even maintains that the success of France in maintaining silver and gold at the legal ratio was limited to "the first half of the present century," when "the production of both gold and silver was slow and equable." As a matter of fact, the relative production of gold was trebled during this period, and the greatest triumph of the French law was during the decade following 1850, when the production of gold was again and suddenly trebled without a sensible change in the relative value of the two metals. Still more unjustifiable is Professor Hadley's argument that an increase in the currency injures labor. He bases this upon the [Continued on page 1008]